We're Nothing but Forgotten Dreams
by jewishushanka
Summary: Set between heaven and hell, lives a world where children from the ages four to eighteen are placed. Those who have been murdered or committed suicide live among a village in the middle of a dead forest. The only catch is they must take on the form of how they looked when passing.
1. Chapter 1

When Kyle Broflovski awoke, his throat felt like it was on fire. He gasped heavily rising from the very uncomfortable bed he lied in. The action caused him to begin choking and soon thick, black gunk began rising up his throat. He heaved as hard as he could, until finally, the substance shot out of his mouth. The taste was disgusting. Something between river water and rotten garbage. As he continued to cough up what seemed like black tar, blood started to come up as well.

A sharp and excruciating pain throbbed in the back of his head. The redhead reached behind to touch the spot and what he found wasn't good. A large gashing wound ran along his skull, fresh blood matted some of his curls together. It didn't hurt to touch it, but Kyle psyched himself out and still muttered a small 'ouch'.

He finally looked around, taking in his surroundings. This wasn't any place the boy recognized. He seemed to be inside a small wooden cottage which was basically only one room. He sat upon a plain, white bed and to the left of him was another with a body lying on top of it. It was a boy – one the red head knew fairly well. Within seconds, he jumped off his bed, coughing up more of the black substance and running towards the boy.

"Stan! Oh, Stan. Please let that be you. Oh please."

The curly haired boy climbed onto the bed with the sleeping one, aggressively shaking his body. "Stanley, wake up!" He coughed viciously, spraying blood on the face of the boy. As it hit him, eyelids fluttered open revealing sharp, cobalt eyes. The whites around the irises were blood shot. His raven hair stuck to pale skin, looking wet as though he just got out the shower.

"Kyle…" Stan's voice called out sounding very scratchy.

The raven haired boy tried to sit up, but as he did so he coughed the same way Kyle had been doing. Groaning, Stan lied back down.

"Where are we?" He croaked.

Kyle replied, looking around the cottage again. Nothing about it was familiar. Besides the two white beds and the wooden nightstand set between them, it wasn't very distinguishable. "I don't know…"

"My throat is absolutely killing me." Stan whimpered. "And my lungs feel like they're full of water."

The redhead took notice of the clothing the boy beneath him wore. They were the only thing that struck some sort of memory. The colour was completely washed out of his once navy blue hoodie. Small slivers of a mysterious black gunk stuck to his jeans and the smell of dirty water and fish was strong against his nostrils. The gash in the back of Kyle's head began to throb worse than it did earlier. Not being able to stop himself beforehand, he coughed violently, hacking blood onto Stan once more.

Stan flinched as soon as it came in contact with his skin, leaving small coats on him. "Gross, dude. Can't you control that?" he asked. "What is that anyways? It's disgusting."

Muttering a small 'sorry', Kyle wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I know. And I've been coughing this shit up since I woke up. I have no idea what it is, but it taste horrible and only makes my throat worse."

"Weird."

In another attempt, Stan sat up - successfully this time - heaving a small amount of blood out. He rest his head on Kyle's shoulder and the redhead noticed a sliver of the same black gunk that was on Stan's pants, in his hair. When he went to pull it out, he realized it was some kind of plant that looked like it came from the bottom of a lake.

Breathing suddenly became harder for Kyle. He gasped loudly, trying to catch fresh air, but it didn't help. All it did was make him want to cough harder than he had so far. Three… four… five attempts to regain his breath and Kyle was still gasping. One after the next.

"Kyle!"

Stan grabbed the curly red head by his shoulders and pushed him down onto the bed. Coughing slightly with his mouth closed, Kyle continued to attempt in catching his breath. The black hair boy leaned down until his lips were hovering over the others. Counting to three, he planted his mouth onto Kyle's and puffed a large amount of air into him. He pulled away, getting a small taste of the black substance on his lips, and gagged. Kyle was right… it was disgusting. The rough gasps coming from the boy died down a bit but he still wasn't coping well. Stan went to breathe into him once more, this time coughing blood down Kyle's mouth.

Kyle pushed Stan away from him quickly, leaning over the bed and threw up a deep red substance. It was thinner than the others he's been hacking up, and tasted like river water and blood. The smell of it made Stan want to vomit himself, but he turned away from the sight then stood up from the bed.

"I'm going to go check out what's outside. Maybe I can run into somebody else and see if they can help." Looking back at Kyle, worry showed in the blue of Stan's eyes. "Try not to breathe too hard." He was trying to make light of the situation, but Kyle simply glared at the noirette, his hazel eyes showed no emotion.

Stan laughed hesitantly, then began to walk towards the door of the cottage.

Outside was like nothing Stan had ever seen before. There was no colour to be found anywhere. The grass was grey and the sky a pure white with charcoal clouds. It seemed as though he stood inside a picture from the 30's. The only exception would be the washed out colour in his clothes and what he'd seen on Kyle.

All around him were naked trees. They were bent in multiple ways and several limbs came out one another. Not a single leaf could be found. Not on a tree nor a bush sprouting from the ground. Everything looked as though it were dead.

The cottage Stan came from wasn't the only one. So far he spotted three others and he began to walk towards the closest one on his right. The grass crunched underneath Stan's boots with every step he took. It was the only noise to be heard.

When he came up to the wooden cottage, he knocked hard three times then stood back to await someone to answer. It didn't take too long before the heavy wooden door opened and a figure appeared from behind it.

Stan gasped at the sight he witnessed. It caused him to cough up some specs of blood, which he did so in his hands, then he took a few steps backwards.

"Who're you? I don't think I've ever seen you before." The voice that spoke from the figure was quiet and the noiette almost didn't hear him.

"I need help."

"We all do. What's your name?"

The person stepped out, giving Stan a better look at him. They were tall, Stan only going to his shoulders. Unkempt blonde hair sprouted from his head and numerous locks were knotted together. Eyes resembling emerald gems sparkled brightly. They seemed to be the only colour Stan witnessed so far that had life. He noticed a clad of dark freckles all over the blonde's cheeks and began to go down his neck. He looked perfectly normal… until you looked at his torso. The white button-up the boy wore was ripped in several different places and on each tear dark, crusted blood surrounded the hole. Underneath the rips, Stan could see deep flesh wounds – he counted around thirteen of them. Some of them had fresh blood that slowly leaked out adding to the mess on his button-up.

"I'm Tweek." He smiled menacingly at Stan, offering his hand out for a shake.

Stan took it within his own, and shook it softly. "S-stanley…" He muttered.

Tweek pulled his hand back, looking down at it when he noticed some of other boy's blood came off. Shrugging, he replied with, "Pleasure. What seems to be the problem?"

"My boyfriend and I… we woke up here and we have no idea where we are."

The blonde laughed. It was like music to Stan's ears. But at the same time, it sounded like mockery. "I haven't heard that one before. Say, what were you doing before you woke up here?"

The question struck the noirette as strange. He coughed slightly, scratching his throat as he did so, then cocked his head to the side.

"Can't remember can you? No big deal. Which cottage is yours?"

Stan pointed to the one just to the right. Tweek nodded then exited from within his own. Before he shut the door behind him, a voice called out. A pubescent voice. "Hey, where 'ya going, Tweek?"

"No worries, cutie. I'll be back."

The door shut and Stan lead the way back to the cottage Kyle resided in.

"Anyone ever tell you, you have a nice ass?"

The cobalt eyed boy glanced over his shoulder at the blonde, chuckling softly before he felt the need to cough. "Not as nice as my boyfriend's."

When the door to the cottage opened, Kyle couldn't have been any happier. Even though it had only been fifteen minutes, it felt more like a full hour of hell. The redhead got the worse end up of the coughing stick out of the two boys, and he cursed every second of it.

"Kyle! I brought back someone who said they could help. Just… don't freak out…"

"Hey, you learn to live with it kid." A soft unknown voice called out.

Kyle could hear Stan sigh and he sat up from his spot on the bed. When he took in the sight of the raven haired boy and the bleeding blonde behind him, he gasped loudly – and this time it was intentional.

"Holy shit! Are you all right?!"

Tweek smiled at the sincerity in Kyle's voice. He always got some sort of reaction when new residents arrived. The blonde was one of the worst one's there. And most of them who were mutilated stayed indoors, not wanting to disturb the others. "I couldn't be any better." He exclaimed. Walking past Stan, Tweek made his way over to the bed Kyle awoke from. As he sat down, a wound opened wider and fresh blood began to seep out.

The redhead quickly got up from the bed he was sitting on and walked over to Tweek. "Dude, you have like twenty holes in your stomach! How the hell are you still walking around?"

The blonde covered his mouth with his hand which had specs of fresh blood on it. He attempted to suppress a laugh but it didn't fool Kyle any. The hazel eyed boy grew angry and slapped the hand away from the blonde's mouth.

"Nothing's funny. Why are you laughing? You shouldn't even be alive!" He turned to face Stan who was too shocked to say a word. "What's going on Stan?"

"I don't know…" He mumbled. Coughing softly, he continued. "I'm as confused as you are."

"This is all a dream isn't it?! None of this is real." Kyle laughed, clutching his stomach. "That's it! It's all a dream. A sick fucking dream. I'm going to wake up from this and blondie won't be there. Stan and I won't be coughing up shit anymore and I'll finally be able to breathe."

Tweek then took the liberty to stand up. Being only a couple inches taller than Kyle, he wasn't as intimidating, but he grabbed the redhead by collar of his dull, orange jacket and pulled him close so he could whisper in his ear. His voice came out gravely, sending chills down Kyle's back. Hazel eyes opened largely then went down to a half-lidded state. The whole time this went on, Stan watched unable to decide what to do.

"You think no one else thought the same thing? There's no going back, kid. We're all stuck here."

"Who's 'we'?"

The blonde pulled away, pushing Kyle a bit. His arms crossed over his soiled shirt and he sat back down on Kyle's bland bed.

"Everyone in Purgatory."

* * *

The voice of Tweek talking to another resident rang loudly in Kenny McCormick's ear as he lied on the bed he shared with his younger sister. She was dead asleep, dreaming about whatever the nine year old liked. The brother watched the little air holes in her neck open and close with each breath she took. Small gargled noises came from within them. It was always a struggle to sleep at night having to hear that next to your ears. Kenny sat up on the bed, the white comforter falling down in his lap. He noticed Tweek standing in the cottage doorway. A figure who came up to his shoulders stood in front of him.

"Can't remember can you? No big deal. Which cottage is yours?" The blonde began to walk outside about to close the heavy door behind him.

Kenny jumped up, calling after him. "Hey, where 'ya going, Tweek?"

"No worries, cutie. I'll be back." And with that, he left, shutting the door loudly.

Kenny always loved the way Tweek called him Cutie. He never called anybody else that… not even Craig. So to him, it felt like his own personal nickname. When Tweek first arrived to Purgatory, he woke up in a bed located in Kenny's cottage. It meant that this was his home now, and it practically felt like fate. For the longest time, the blonde with the bright, green eyes only communicated with Kenny. He wasn't scared to look at him and Tweek was even worse off in appearance.

It was an unspoken rule that the ones who were badly mutilated stayed indoors. They often didn't want to show off the horrible way their body now looked. Kenny was one of those individuals.

His accident left him with a terribly bruised half-face, complete with leftover glass shards stuck within the skin. If he went to touch them, (Or like the time he actually attempted to pull one out.) most of the time Kenny would cut his fingers and curse for even fucking with them. His left eye – it didn't even exist for all he cared. The accident left it going blind and no longer did it own a beautiful, baby blue hue like his right eye did. This one was now a milky, white and couldn't see a thing. Kenny never unlidded his left eye, it hurt to move the bruised muscle and became a bother to only see blurred lights.

The moment Kenny laid eyes on Tweek, he gasped at the gaping holes all over his torso. As the blonde moved, finally awaken from his arrival, a whole lot of them opened them and his white button-up became even more soaked in blood. It didn't matter what Tweek did, they never stopped bleeding and they never closed up. One morning, when Karen was over at the cottage Patty Nelson lived in, Kenny limped to Tweek's bed and climbed under the covers to join him. They ended up talking for hours, a complete blur to the rest of the community. Kenny looked down at the wounds on his roommate's body. They reminded him so much of the ones on Karen's neck. Unconsciously, the bruised boy brought a hand to one right above Tweek's belly button, running his fingers over it gently.

Tweek did nothing except watch wandering fingers move across his wounds. None of them hurt. They stopped doing that as soon as he passed away. Another second passed by and Kenny was now sticking his index finger inside one of them.

The feeling… is almost unexplainable. It just felt like a foreign object invading his insides. The bruised blonde's finger was cold like the rest of his body temperature. When it became knuckle deep, Kenny finally pulled it out, brightly fresh blood covering the digit. Some of the substance began leaking out of the wound. The two looked up to meet the other's eyes, and Tweek couldn't help but smile.

"Didn't hurt a bit." He exclaimed.

"I didn't think so." Kenny relied. "Nothin' seems to hurt you anymore."

They continued to stare at each other, until Tweek brought his face closer to the blue eye boy's. Closing emerald hues, Tweek touched his lips softly upon Kenny's, planting a sweet kiss. Lasting only seconds, he pulled away to observe Kenny's reaction.

A smile spread upon his mouth, lop-sided due to the pain it caused to move the bruised side of his face. Tweek smiled back then added a small wink, and they continued back to conversing.

Ever since that day, the two roommates became closer than before – in more wayways than one. Stuck at the age of thirteen, Kenny always thought he would be treated like a child for the rest of the time he lived on Purgatory. But Tweek didn't seem to mind one bit that there was an age difference of five years. The emerald blonde treated Kenny like someone his own age. A mature, young adult. And when the night came that Tweek wanted a more physical bond between them, Kenny was more than happy to fulfill the need.

Now that Tweek was out with someone else and Kenny was left alone with his sleeping sister, the tension of wanting to know where Tweek went, flew through his mind numerous times. But he couldn't just leave Karen alone. If she were awake it'd be a different story. Karen was one of the residents that rarely left her cottage, unless she was going to visit Patty Nelson or Craig who was mute like herself.

Kenny and his younger sister passed away because of a deed their parents made one drunken night in late October. The family was heading back to their small town in North Dakota, his mother who sat behind the wheel, drunker than a skunk. She was yelling loudly at her husband who sat beside her in the car, and when she came across an intersection, she didn't take notice that the light flashed red.

Every night Kenny cursed his mother's actions. If it weren't for her, Karen and him would still be alive. They wouldn't be suffering in Purgatory with wounds that never left their bodies.

The brother gently nudged Karen, an attempt to wake her. It didn't take too much effort until her bright, blue eyes that resembled the same ones her brother owned, fluttered open. She signed off the symbol for 'good morning' and Kenny couldn't help but smile down at her.

"I'm going out for a bit, Karen. Don't know when I'll be back, but you can go on back to sleep. Doubt you'll be leavin' the cottage anyways."

Karen nodded, then automatically closed her eyes again. Kenny took that as his sign to skedaddle. Slipping on his tennis shoes, he exited the wooden cottage and began to explore outside.

Even after living there for two year, he still couldn't get used to the way it looked. Everything belonged to the grey family, all the plant life and even the sky. It was too… dull. Nothing brought life to this world, but perhaps that was the point. Everyone was dead anyways.

The problem with the wooden cottages were that they all looked alike. No one took the liberty of decorating around their residence. Didn't see the point in it. But it then brought the issue of remembering whose cottage was whose and that's when people began making a wooden plaque with the family name to stick on the door so everyone would know.

There was one cottage that didn't have a plaque. The one that sat right next to Kenny's. But the door to it was creaked open, and curiosity struck the blonde. He limped over to the unmarked home, pushed the door open when he came in contact and walked right inside.

The first thing he heard was coughing and hacking. Tweek never had that problem, so it couldn't be from him. In fact… Kenny couldn't think of anyone that coughed like that. Which could only mean one thing – they were new.

Tweek sat on a bed facing two people he's never seen before. One a raven haired boy with striking, cobalt eyes and the other a taller boy with red coloured curls and hazel eyes as grey as the outside. The redhead coughed violently spraying a thick black substance all over himself. A small trail of it trickled out his mouth, running down his chin, only to end up on his orange jacket. He paid no mind to it, instead he was more focused on the limping boy that just entered his cottage.

"Who're you?"

The blonde with the mutilated torso looked towards Kenny, eyes widening. "Kenny." His voice was soft against the silence. "I thought I told you I'd be back…"

"You did. But I didn't feel like waiting."

Tweek sighed, then laughed clutching his side. "Of course. Well, go ahead and introduce yourself."

The boy with the raven hair and cobalt eyes, grabbed the other boy's hand. Both were covered in blood and the black substance, mixing together when their hands touched. He didn't seem to be as bad off. He wasn't coughing as much as the redhead did and it wasn't as hard either. Kenny limped towards them, opening his left eye as he did so. The muscles in his eyelid burned and the blonde cringed in pain. The only thing that could be seen through the milky, white eye was a blurred cream light and darkened shadows.

"I'm Kenneth."

"Kyle… and this is Stan." The redhead spoke for the both of them. A harsh cough escaped his lips, the sound of the substance rising up his throat was disturbing to listen to.

"What happened to you guys?"

The statement was so blunt, it rung through the tension in the air. Stan looked at Kyle who looked over to Tweek and the blonde only smiled.

"A double-suicide."


	2. Chapter 2

An eighteen year old boy walked down the streets of Chicago with a slip of paper in hand and his eyes scanning address numbers looking for a certain one in particular. The wind was blowing heavily making the boy wish he wore more than a thin cardigan sweater. The sound of his ankle boots clacked loudly on the sidewalk, it was the only sound out at this time of night, aside from the occasional passing of cars. The apartment number 1304 appeared before the boy and he picked his pace up to a jog to reach it faster. Once in front of the building he pressed the buzzer then waited for the owner to let him in.

The door unlocked, inviting the young adult within. A hallway along with a questionable looking staircase were all that apartment had to offer, and he began walking up the stairs which lead to another hallway. The room he was looking for was at the very end of the upper-level structure. The boy ran down to meet it then knocked anxiously until it opened for him.

Standing behind appeared to be a man in his early thirties with dull grey eyes and thinning brown hair. His thin lips offered a smile to the younger boy then stepped aside to let him in.

"You must be Tweek." The man said, closing the door and locking it behind them. "Can I ask what your real name is?"

The boy gave the man a sly smile. "Maybe later."

The apartment didn't have very much to offer. It seemed like a studio with a bathroom off to the side. A mattress lied in the furthest right corner, complete with black sheets and a matching black comforter. It seemed to be the only furniture you could actually sit on, because everything else within the room was a large painter's easel and several painting ranging among all different sizes. Tweek stood awkwardly in the middle of it all, waiting for the man to suggest something to do.

The man, whose name Tweek still didn't know, stared at the blonde with lust in his eyes. He grabbed the blonde's small hand and led him to the bed. As they got closer to it, he noticed a plastic baggie filled with liquid vials and several different needles. The man pushed Tweek onto the bed, then sat down beside him.

"Ever done GHB before?" He asked while going to grab for the bag.

The blonde shook his head, emerald eyes watched closely as the man fetched a vial and began to take some of the liquid into the needle. The sound of it being injected filled the silence. The man looked up after he was finished, a smile within those dull hues. "GHB… Gamma hydroxybutyrate." He butchered the name. "…Liquid x..?"

Tweek's eyes widened at that name. "Oh! No. No, I haven't really done any hardcore drugs."

"This should be fun then." He muttered. "By the way – you can call me Cole."

It was nothing like Tweek had ever experienced before. The sensation, the colours, and most of all – the warmth. A lot of it was a blur, but he definitely knew what was going on. The thirty year old man, who insisted he be called Cole, hovered over the small blonde, fingertips touching every surface of his soft, milky skin. Moans sounded throughout the apartment, Tweek wasn't very quiet during sex. The man quickened his pace, even though he's done it plenty of times. It's been going on for an hour now, even though they've already cummed around three times each. Cole grunted, grabbing a handful of the small boy's hair. He brought his lips to the blonde's ear and whispered roughly into it.

"Getting tired yet?"

Tweek sighed, rolling his head to the side. It wasn't his first time sleeping with a stranger. This was an activity the eighteen year old found himself doing a lot on the weekends – hitting up a man with experience on a social media website, meeting up with him a few days later, and finally engaging in sex. He was trying to discover himself, and this seemed like the best way possible. The question of being gay always hovered over Tweek's head for many years, it turned out to be true the first time he had himself rammed into by a stranger.

The blonde went to grab Cole's hand from out of his hair. Fingers became loose around the locks, and soon the movements between the two came to an end. The older man rolled off Tweek, going to lie right beside him. His erection was still prominent, looking to be a bother. Tweek noticed it in the corner of his eye.

"Want me to take care of that?" He asked gravely.

No response came and it caused Tweek to sit up and look over to the man beside him. He lied on his back, hazel eyes hiding behind closed eyelids, heavy breathing sounded from the man's mouth that was slightly open. He must have fell asleep the moment he hit the mattress.

Sighing, Tweek got off the bed as carefully as he could. The effects of the GHB were beginning to wear off. As he eyed the small baggie which was almost empty of the drug now, the blonde remembered he didn't even want to take the substance to begin with. He remembers the way Cole jammed the needle harshly into the skin on his arm, even as he protested it, and how it didn't take too long for the effects to start working. It pissed Tweek off. He felt used and more importantly, taken advantage of. Yeah, he was going to end up having sex with the man anyways, but he wanted it to come naturally. Not enforced by a drug.

He pulled his clothes over his body as quickly as he could, the cold of the apartment beginning to settle in. Glaring down at the sleeping man while Tweek buttoned his thin cardigan, rage was overcoming his emotions. He got back onto the bed, kneeling over Cole, then slapped him as hard as he could in an attempt to wake the sleeping man. Hazel eyes opened wide and he jumped up to a sitting position.

"The fuck?!"

"You used me!" Tweek yelled. He brought his hand forward to slap Cole again, a loud smack echoed throughout the apartment. "I didn't want to take that shit, and I told you that!"

The brunette laughed loudly, throwing his head back. "You should thank me, kid. If it wasn't for that, you wouldn't have been much of a fuck."

"You weren't even that great, jackass."

"You say that, but I bet you can't remember a thing."

"Fuck you!"

Tweek got off the bed angrily. He walked over to where his boots sat near the doorway. As the blonde attempted to put them on as fast as he could, he wasn't aware of how the older man got off the bed as well and went to grab a silver weapon that conveniently sat on the nightstand. Buckles fastened and the boy straightened out, hand gripping the door knob. But he stopped when a hand grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to turn around and pushed him against the wall.

"You're pathetic, blondie."

The pain was excruciating. It was long and stretched out for the entire time Tweek laid on the ground bleeding out. He should have been dead by now. Should had been taken out of the misery of attempting to breathe when blood was stuck in his airways and numerous stab wounds decorated his torso. It wouldn't be for another two minutes until he passed out. They were the longest two minutes of his life.

* * *

There was no sun in Purgatory. The light source that was given seemed to be a mystery and no matter how long one tried to stay up to see when it came out to signify morning, nobody ever caught it. It just seemed to rise when everyone wasn't paying attention.

This was something that bothered Craig Tucker. He wanted to know how this world worked, and he had all of eternity to find out.

He woke up to the sound of his mother humming a tune. It surrounded him as he stirred around in bed then sat up. Laura Tucker sat in her bed parallel to his, softy combing and braiding her blonde hair that reached the mid-section of her back. Craig admired the looks of his mother. She was a very beautiful women, much better looking in person than in the pictures he was always shown growing up. Even though Laura was ultra-pale and had constant bags under her blue-violet eyes, it hardly changed her appearance. She still seemed to glow.

She stopped humming and looked over at her son. "Good morning." Her mouth smiled softly.

Craig nodded and moved his hands to ask, 'How are you doing this morning?'

Sign language was something Craig always struggled with. He knew plenty of words because his younger sister was deaf, so it came in handy when he found he couldn't speak once joining Purgatory. But many of the other residents didn't know a thing, and he often found himself not communicating. Craig taught his mother what he could by showing off numerous symbols then writing down on a piece of paper what each meant. She caught on to some of the things her son said to her, but for the most time, she was clueless.

"Better than usual, I would say." Laura said. "My nausea has gone down since last night, but I'm still tired even after my long nap."

Laura Tucker became pregnant with Craig at the young age of seventeen and gave birth to him the same year. The process was long and tiring and during her nine months, she struggled with not having miscarriages, her health not being in the best condition. When it finally came the time that she had to push the baby out, she was able to do so but it resulted in Laura passing away a few minutes later.

The moment Craig woke up in Purgatory, he laid eyes on the mother he never got the chance to meet. It was a difficult process to try to explain to Laura that he was her son - what with not being able to speak. But luckily the picture Craig would carry of his mother transferred to Purgatory with him, and all he had to do was show the picture to Laura and she finally understood. The situation was strange. Being older than his mother… meeting her for the first time in eighteen years. He felt so foreign conversing with the women, but it also felt like he's known her all his life.

After realizing her son was Craig, the question of why he was in the same place as her arose. She laid her head on her son's shoulder, blond hair flowing over his body, and she whispered the curiosity next to his ear. Craig became embarrassed. He couldn't tell his mother in whom he just met, why he was now dead. Craig wasn't supposed to die at the early age of eighteen. But then again, no one here really was.

One word Craig never learned to sign was the one he needed the most. So instead, he grabbed for a pad of paper that sat on the nightstand between their two beds. Gripping a pencil strongly in his hand, he scrawled the word 'suicide' across the paper. His mother gasped loudly, sitting up to look her son in his dark, brown eyes.

She should have guessed that's what happened. What with the strong purple bruising that rung around his neck and the long, tattered rope knotted in the same spot. But it was the fact that she had clarification. Tears welled up in Laura's eyes as she stared at her son. Craig signed off the words 'I'm sorry' even though she didn't understand.

They made an attempt to get to know each other. It seemed like the perfect time since they had forever. Craig discovered he was like his mother in many ways. They were both blunt when they wanted to be and liked to be alone for the most part. Laura had a very bad temper which her son only witnessed once, when she got furious at something Kenny McCormick did. That was all Craig needed to see to know not to piss Laura off.

The brown eyed boy grabbed the end of the rope that wasn't around his neck and tied a strong knot around his right wrist. He found the rope would never leave his body. The one time he successfully got it off, it reappeared the following morning when he woke up. It seemed like a constant embarrassment to Craig. The fact that he had to show case the deed he did to himself.

"Are you going out?" Laura asked.

Craig nodded. He jumped off his bed then made his way to exit the cottage. Not even bothering to slip his high-tops on, Craig simply left the home he shared with his mother.

He was on his way to the cottage Tweek lived in. They were the only eighteen year olds in Purgatory. It seemed like a bother and a blessing. For the longest time, Tweek only communicated with Kenny McCormick, whom he shared a cottage with. It pissed Craig off that he was spending all his time with an immature thirteen year old, when Tweek could have been with the noirette instead. It wouldn't be months until Tweek came to the Tucker's cottage and asked to see Craig.

Laura answered the door expecting young Karen to be behind it, but instead there stood Tweek with a stupid grin on his face and fresh blood leaking out of his wounds. Craig's mother never got out much due to her being lethargic most of the time, so she hadn't witnessed the blonde until then, and her reaction was priceless. The mother brought a hand to cover her mouth then screamed for Craig to come. When the noirette saw that Tweek stood outside his cottage, he couldn't help but smile lightly to himself. Taking in the striking features of the blonde.

He asked if he could talk to Craig and the two went out on a walk around Purgatory. They went out to a spot many residents never bothered to venture in, outside the village and into the forest of the thick, dead trees. Craig sat down on a stump, with one of his legs nudged against his chest and his head resting on top his knee. Tweek paced before him. Back and forth…brown hues followed the blonde. He wouldn't speak up for a few moments. Not until he grew uncomfortable with the silence.

"Can you speak?"

Craig lifted his head off his knee, glaring hastily at the blonde. He shook his head while frowning a bit.

Tweek cocked an eyebrow towards the sitting boy, stopping his movements, he moved his hands hesitantly – making sure he was making the correct symbols. All he did was sign off letters, but spelled a single word. 'Deaf.'

Craig took it as a question and again, shook his head then signed off himself. 'Mute.'

He watched the concentration on Tweek's face. The way the blonde mimicked the motions and mouthed the letters. After figuring it out, he nodded slowly. "So you're like Karen…"

Like Craig, Kenny's younger sister was mute. When he arrived and discovered someone who couldn't express words in the same way, he took it upon himself to teach the girl simple words and phrases in sign language. About once a week Karen would come over to his cottage for a new lesson. They would often find themselves having silent conversations that nobody else could understand. It was about the only thing the two shared.

Once Tweek discovered Craig couldn't speak, he made an attempt to visit more often, figuring the boy got lonely. But that was never the case. Craig liked the silence that surrounded him. It gave him a whole new meaning.

One night after many in the villagers went to sleep, Craig snuck out and met Tweek to the same spot they first sat at. The mute boy listened to the blonde tell one of his stories from when he was alive. That night, Craig learned about how Tweek died. The details were so raw, Craig found himself cringing at the point where the stabbings happened. He watched as Tweek seemed to recite the incident as though he were in a trance. His bright, emerald eyes glazed over, staring off somewhere behind where Craig sat on his tree stump.

After it was over, the noirette stood up and walked over to where Tweek sat in a pile of dead leaves. (It always made Craig wonder how there were dead leaves when none resided on the trees themselves.) His rope swung with every step he took and once he stood over the blonde, Tweek grabbed the rope and pulled so Craig would sit next to him. Dead leaves crunched under his weight as he sat down. The emerald eyed boy never let go of the rope, he held on to it as he leaned closer to the noirette.

This kiss was unlike any one Craig received when he was alive. It was too forced and full of unsteadiness. Cool lips moved over the pale ones Craig owned, teeth bit his bottom lip and the noirette let out a soft sigh. He smiled against Tweek's mouth, pulling away. His eyes fluttered to see the expression on the blonde's face. Emerald hues no longer seemed glazed and instead soft, tears came out. Craig asked what was wrong and Tweek only shook his head at him.

"Nothing…"

He pulled the mute boy back in for another kiss and this one ended up lasting longer, transitioning into more.

The cottage Tweek shared with the McCormick siblings turned out to be missing two of the residents. Only little Karen was inside, sleeping away. Harsh and struggled breathing sounded throughout the home, and it bothered Craig to listen to. He backed out of the cottage closing the door behind him, and decided to head back to his own. Spending the day with his mother would probably be better anyways.

* * *

Kyle admittedly was afraid to venture outside of the cottage. He pictured several dead persons walking around the village conversing amongst each other, and turning to stare at the redhead when he emerged. Never letting go of Stan's hand, the two followed Tweek and the other blonde outside.

The light blinded him. So white, it seemed unnatural. All around him everything was in various shades of grey – from the sky to the ground. He found that hardly anybody was outside aside from the four. Except for one individual who walked with a rope tied around their neck and right wrist, swinging with every step he made. It freaked Kyle out witnessing such a thing. Coughing roughly, black gunk came out his mouth like it always did.

The boy with the rope turned around at the sound of Kyle coughing. His brown eyes widened. Kyle took notice of the deep, purple bruising on smooth caramel skin underneath the rope around his neck. The boy wore all black – from his long sleeved shirt and black jeans to the same shade in his shaggy hair.

Tweek called out. "Craig! We've got newbies."

Kenny snickered at the comment and Kyle only snarled. He felt his boyfriend squeeze his hand, and he looked up to meet cobalt blue hues. Stan shrugged lightly, then continued to follow the two blondes.

When they got closer to Craig, the redhead's coughing got worse. A small sliver of the black substance ran out his mouth, stringing out until it fell and landed on the ground. It sounded with a loud crunch when it touched the dead grass.

The boy with the rope didn't say anything when they finally reached each other. He smiled at Tweek and waved gently to the other blonde. Tweek glanced back at Stan and Kyle, one hand resting on his hip.

"This is Craig. He's mute which explains why he isn't speaking. The poor boy committed suicide, just like you two did."

"Yeah!" Kenny interjected. "Only he hung himself instead of jumping off a bridge."

The fact that they were talking about it so openly bothered Kyle. The gash in the back of his head began to burn with excruciating pain. Quickly letting go of Stan's hand, the redhead cringed and went to touch the wound. He doubled over so he now knelt down, crying out in pain.

Stan looked over to the boy in shock. "Kyle!"

"It fucking hurts!" He yelled, grabbing a handful of his matted curls.

Tweek quickly walked over to the boy kneeling on the ground, looking closely at the wound in the back of his head. Blood mixed with a light yellow substance oozed out from within it. The blonde bit his lip trying to decide what to say.

"That doesn't look good… but…there really isn't much we can do about it, kid." Running a hand through his out-of-control hair, Tweek sighed. "I mean, it's really your own fault you're even in this place."

Standing up, Kyle balled his hands up into fists, anger overcoming his emotions, he suddenly ignored the pain. "You act like I don't know that! But you have no idea the shit I went through back there. This is was my only escape!"

Kenny cocked his head to the side, frowning at the redhead. "And yet you dragged your boyfriend with you?"

"Fuck off! It isn't any of your concern."

And with that, Kyle ran off back in the direction he came from. Running to the cottage he and Stan awoke from, he opened the door then shut it loudly. Stan looked around at everyone around him. Kenny was snickering to himself and the noirette with the rope was making various symbols with his hands to Tweek. Sighing, he then followed with a soft cough, and started after Kyle.

It was definitely going to take some time getting used to this place.


	3. Chapter 3

Clyde Donovan walked around his cottage back and forth, pacing the small wooden structure. His girlfriend was out taking a bath in a lake that wasn't too far outside the village. He never liked when she went alone, but when Clyde awoke this morning, he found a note next to his bed with her handwriting sprawled atop it. It let him know that she went to take a bath and it shouldn't be long before she got back. Just thinking about his girlfriend rubbing herself in the cool, lake water turned Clyde on tremendously. His only problem was, he couldn't touch himself. Not with the issue Purgatory gave him. So he continued to pace the room and wait until the girl returned.

Yelling could be heard from outside. Multiple voices, mostly ones Clyde didn't recognize. He walked over to a window on the other side near his bed and glanced through it. Standing in the middle of the village were two blondes he wasn't too keen on and a noirette with a noose around his neck. Beside them were two boys Clyde didn't recognize. The redhead knelt down, grasping his head with his hands, screaming loudly. He watched as the taller blonde went around to observe where the redhead's hands were and the other blonde with the bruised face smiled commenting about it.

Clyde couldn't stand to watch anymore, we walked away from the window and casually sat on his bed. Going back to wait for his girlfriend, which seemed like eternity.

Blood dripped out of multiple cuts that laced thin, pale wrists. No matter how hard Bebe Stevens scrubbed at her wounds, they continued to bleed out and paint her skin. She wasn't ashamed of the sin she committed. Bebe thought it was romantic - how she slit her wrists in order to kill herself because she couldn't live without her boyfriend. Although, when she told her story to others in the village after arriving, many of them disagreed and looked down upon her actions. But they still liked Bebe as a person, and they tried to overlook it.

Bebe finished washing her body, and began to walk out of the lake. Picking up the clothes that she laid on a nearby tree branch, she attempted to air dry as quickly as she could, then slipped on her large red sweater. What she liked about the article of clothing was she could easily cover her wrists with the big, puffy sleeves. Stepping into her black jeans, she then continued making her way back to the village.

With every step she took, water droplets fell off her long, curly hair. Bebe counted each time she watched one fall onto the dead grass beneath her. Her bare feet crunched and she had a small bounce in her step. Soft blue hues scanned the setting before her and she snapped her fingers along the way.

By the time she reached the centre of the village, the blonde noticed a group of individuals conversing amongst themselves within the circle the wooden cottages formed. Bebe counted three boys: two blondes and a noiette, then further north, she watched an unfamiliar boy chase after another with wild, red hair. The blue eyed girl tried her best to ignore them. All she wanted to do was go to her cottage where her boyfriend rest. But as she got closer to the group of three boys, the taller blonde called out to Bebe, yelling her name loudly.

The curly blonde waved at him, with a hand covered in blood that trailed from her open wrist wounds. Moving each digit individually, then she rolled her blue hues to focus before her instead of off to the side. He continued to call after her, and the other blonde standing next to him followed suit. Sighing, Bebe picked up her pace. She didn't need this.

"Damn it, Bebe! I'm trying to get your attention!"

Huffing loudly, the curly blonde stopped dead in her tracks. Turning around, she noticed one of the boys limping his way towards her. She cringed at the dark, purple bruising that covered the left side of his face. No matter how many times she saw him, it made her uncomfortable. More than likely it had to do with the glass shards that stuck out from within the bruised skin. Sometimes Bebe imagined running her hand across the shards, wondering how it would feel to touch them.

Setting a hand on her hip, Bebe replied with, "What is it, Kenneth?"

He rolled baby blue hues. He never liked it when someone used his full name, but Bebe didn't care.

"You see the new kids?"

This time the girl rolled her eyes, "What of it?"

Kenny smirked her way. "Just curious…"

Bebe groaned loudly. She was tired of Kenny's game. This just goes to show why she never bothered to go out of her way to converse with the bruised blonde. "Spit it out." She took her hand off her hip, shifting her weight to one leg and crossing her arms over her breasts.

"How long's it gonna take for you to try to jump on one of 'em?" The lopsided smirk never left the boy's lips. It disgusted Bebe.

Narrowing her blue hues, her facial expression showed anger. The curly blonde was widely known for hooking up with other residents in the village when her boyfriend couldn't fulfill her needs and every chance he got, Kenny poked fun of her for it. Even though, the thirteen year old was also known for having a time with her.

"You're unbelievable, Kenneth!" Bebe spat. She turned on her heel and began to make her way towards her cottage – which was her original intention.

The curly blonde went back to counting whatever struck her interest. This time it was the steps it took for her to reach to the wooden structure she called home.

Bebe rest her head on her boyfriend's shoulder, her slightly damp hair soaking the sleeve of his plain, red t-shirt. She hasn't said a word since she entered the cottage, the blonde simply walked over to where Clyde sat on his bed and joined him.

On many occasions the couple sat in silence. Even after months of living in Purgatory, Clyde still wasn't comfortable with the fact that his girlfriend followed him in death after his passing. It kind of freaked him out that Bebe was _that_ committed.

The curly blonde sighed softly in the brunette's ear nuzzling a bit closer to him. She actually wanted to talk to him about the fact that were two new residents in Purgatory… but she couldn't bring herself to start the conversation. So instead, she listened to her boyfriend's heavy breathing and dealt with the tension.

* * *

"No I can't let you go through with this, Kyle! I won't be able to live without you, why can't you understand that?" Tears strolled down Stan's face as he tried to talk his boyfriend out of the sin he was about to commit. The two of them were standing on a bridge on the outskirts of where they lived in Denver. The taller of the two, Kyle, stood on the cement wall structure, looking over the river underneath. The current that day was strong, large rippled waves moved throughout the water. Kyle looked back to Stan, moving a hand to help hide some of the sun that was going into his eyes. The boy standing underneath him continued to plead until his words weren't distinguishable.

"I can't fucking do this, Stan! I can't deal with the discrimination I'm receiving from everyone! And I know, you're aware of what I'm talking about."

It was true, Stan knew exactly what Kyle was speaking of. He thought back to the time he announced to his parents how he was in a relationship with his best friend of years. He remembers the look of disgust spread upon his father's face and how his mother refused to look him in the eyes. They forbad Kyle coming over to the house after that. Stan's parents couldn't wrap their minds around the fact that their son was gay – gay for his best friend at that.

The raven haired boy whimpered, his eyes never leaving the sight of Kyle standing on the bridge wall. He took a deep breath, then started climbing on top of the wall himself. The curly redhead cried out in disbelief, pushing his boyfriend back onto the cement.

"What the hell are you doing?" Kyle cried.

Stan attempted to get beside the redhead again, this time he wasn't pushed off, but Kyle still gave him an ugly glare.

"I'm not letting you leave me."

"Stanley, no. You can't do this."

"Well neither can you!" Stan shot back. He grabbed Kyle by his shoulders and stared harshly into hazel hues. "I can't live without you, I've already stated that, Kyle. So if you're going to make the stupid choice of jumping off this damned bridge, then I'm going down with you."

Tears welded quickly in the ducts of hazel eyes, without a second thought, he grabbed the noirette and pressed his lips roughly against the chapped ones of Stan. The act itself was sweet – two boys standing atop a cement bridge wall kissing one another.

Stan whimpered as he pulled away from the other boy, then turned to look down at the current the river below them was producing. The cobalt eyed boy always had a fear of bodies of water, but Kyle didn't know that. So when he looked up at the redhead nodding at him, it took all his strength to fall gracefully.

Cold, fresh water filled his lungs and each breath Stan took underneath the river wasn't helping. Flailing his arms and legs, the noirette struggled to hit the surface of the water. It was stupid of him to have agreed to jump off the bridge. Stan was still alive and suffering. Opening his eyes, he found everything was murky, indistinguishable and a terrible choice to make. The boy attempted to find his lover, who would be thrashing around just like he was, but instead Stan saw nothing but the colour of dirty navy blue water. Cursing mentally, Stan screamed, bubbles swimming out of his mouth and around his figure.

Breathing soon became a task Stan wished still existed. He wanted to feel fresh oxygen between his nostrils once again, but there was no turning back. Giving up on struggling, and everything else the noirette attempted, he let his body go limp. Drifting slowly to the bottom of the river.

"Kyle, what the hell is your problem?"

Stan stood in the doorway of his cottage, hand resting on the doorknob and refusing to go any further inside.

"This place fucking sucks. Everyone is as fucked up as can be and I'm tired of coughing up black shit. I bet Hell is a much better place than this trap."

Pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing, the noirette stepped back out the cottage, leaving Kyle within and walked back to Tweek and the others.

* * *

A sixteen year old girl walked to her first period class with fresh tears in her soft, blue eyes, and her school books pressed close to her breasts. She counted every time a student passed and stared with eyes glued on her figure. She couldn't handle it, so the girl decided to focus her attention on the clicking of her heels on the tile of the school hallway. She counted whenever her heels stepped on a crack and muttered the 'Break your mother's back' rhyme under her breath.

It reached twenty stares received from kids and the girl started walking faster to her class. Unable to bear the attention she was getting.

When she found the room of 204, she quickly opened the large, heavy door and entered. The teacher, who stood behind his desk, looked at her with lust but at the same time sorrow. The girl can recall her mistake she made at the beginning of the school year with this certain man, and she hates thinking back to it. Shuddering at the thought of fingers grazing her skin in ways they shouldn't, the teen made her way to the back of the classroom where her assigned seat was.

"Good morning, Bebe. I heard about what happened to Clyde on the school news in homeroom. Tragic."

Bebe twitched - her left eye following suit - at the comment. This was the… tenth person to say something to her this morning. She remembers counting every single student that turned her way during homeroom and muttered a condolence. It bothered her, Bebe hardly conversed with any of those kids and she knew their words were fake.

The girl's soft, blue eyes narrowed at her teacher, eyebrows furrowing closer together. There weren't any other students in the room yet, so it was just her and the man and the tension began to get to her. She wouldn't look away from his smug stare until her close friend entered the room.

"Stevens!"

Bebe smiled at the girl with the flaming red hair and silver-blue eyes. The girl took to a soft jog and when she met the blonde at her seat, she pulled her into a huge hug.

"Holy shit, how are you?!"

Rebecca smelled like cherries and Bebe found it ironic because the smell matched her hair. The girl actually was never called by her given name except by Bebe. Instead she was often called Red due to the colour of her medium length, straight hair.

Bebe shrugged while still in grasp of Rebecca. She could feel tears beginning to flow out of her eyes again, and she hated it. The curly blonde never liked showing weakness in front of others, even if it was a close friend. Sniffling softly, Bebe pulled away from the redhead, then followed by wiping her tears.

She could tell the day was going to be a long one.

The sixteen year old sat in her bathtub at nine o'clock at night. No clothes covered her full-figure body and water rushed out the nozzle of the tub. The liquid was as hot as Bebe could endure it – just enough to turn skin a light pink shade. Fresh tears ran out her eyes and she counted every time she sniffled.

In one hand was a kitchen knife Bebe stole earlier in the day, she pressed it lightly to her wrist and wondered how much the first cut would hurt.

This seemed like the easiest way she could take her life. The one that would produce the most pain and mirror how she felt within her heart.

It was all Bebe's fault Clyde passed away. And she knew it. She cursed her choice of not telling him before it was too late. Not warning Clyde before he caught the disease himself. It was Bebe's fault she treated herself before it could go noticed by her partner.

But at the same time…wasn't it also Clyde's fault? He was too stupid to notice the changes before it was too late – and the disease took his life.

Bebe cringed when she heard the school news announce how Clyde passed. She felt it was _so _embarrassing. They should have kept it anonymous, instead of mock him. Announce to the whole school, just how stupid Clyde Donovan was.

The blonde choked back a hard sob. The kitchen knife was now pressing against her skin harder than before and a fresh trail of blood leaked out, falling into the water. Bebe muttered to herself the number of droplets that fell… it was her only way of distracting herself.

More cut wounds formed on the soft, skin of the blonde's wrist. She moved the knife to the hand that bled out, mimicking the motions to the clean untouched wrist. At this point, Bebe was numb. She didn't even feel the pain in her heart anymore.

After Bebe felt she had done enough to herself, she dropped the kitchen knife onto the bathroom tile, listening to the metal echo within the small space of the room. She sunk both wrists underneath the hot water and waited for her conscious to slip away – counting each second that passed by.


	4. Chapter 4

When Karen McCormick wakes for the second time that day, her older brother is nowhere in sight, but that's okay because the young girl is used to being alone.

Still alive, the nine year old liked to stay to herself, partially because she was very shy and timid and she also wasn't the best at social skills. The closest relationship Karen could recall was with her older brother. She remembers how before she began attending grade school, how she would wait for her brother to return, and jump on him the moment he walked through the front door. She wasn't as close with her other brother like she was with Kenny. In fact – Karen liked to imagine Kevin didn't even exist.

When the young girl first woke up in Purgatory she was delighted to finally own a bed that was comfortable to sleep in. Before, the siblings didn't live in the best condition. They were looked upon being the poorest family in their small town in North Dakota. Karen remembers sighing in comfort and wanting to yell in excitement to her brother that: 'Look Kenny! A real bed!' but the moment the girl opened her mouth and tried to speak, she found her vocal chords were shot… her voice no longer present.

She cried, weeping hard tears that didn't even make a sound, and it took a while for her brother to comprehend what was going on. Karen bunched herself into a tight knit ball, holding her knees closely to her chest, and refused to be touched when Kenny approached her. She was afraid of him. Didn't look at her brother the same way because instead of looking at his flawless face with his shockingly beautiful, baby blue eyes, Karen now saw deep, purple bruises decorate his skin and one of his eyes couldn't be used anymore. It bothered her how she could see the glass shards from her parents automobile stuck within his skin because she knew it was her parent's fault they were even in this situation.

Karen tries not to think too hard about the incident, it hurts her brain to do so. She wishes she could communicate with someone else in the village – actually use her voice – and get lost in a conversation with them. That way she wouldn't be prone to her mind wandering back to what happened in that car accident.

As the young girl sits up in her bed, she can hear herself breathing loudly through her neck. It's disgusting… being able to actually _feel _the air pass through the gaping holes in her skin. She doesn't remember exactly how it came to be but she does know it has a big thing to do with her no longer being able to speak anymore. She grabs her sandy, brown hair that flows behind her back and pulls it forward so she can mess around with the locks. Karen kind of wants to visit Craig but she remembers he told her today wouldn't be the best day. Not going into details, the young girl figured he meant he wanted to spend some time with Tweek.

Karen didn't like the tall blonde with the numerous stab wounds in his torso, she felt like he was a whore and only used her brother for sex. She knew what they had wasn't anything emotional, it was for the sake of Kenny finally being laid and Tweek having someone he could go to. She's been told about how the blonde with the emerald eyes also messes around with Craig. In a sense, she's disappointed that the noirette would stoop as low to do such a thing. She always viewed Craig as someone who liked to be alone just like she did. But the moment Tweek showed up at Laura's cottage and asked for Craig, he ditched hanging out with Karen to teach sign language and began spending more time with the blonde. It pissed little Karen off – every time she saw those two together because she knew Craig was being used, just like how it was happening with Kenny.

Anger builds up in Karen's chest and she stops combing her hair to search for an item underneath her pillow. It's been sitting there for a few days now just waiting for Karen to finally break and use it on somebody. Small fingers clutched around the wooden item, gripping it with force. If she wasn't too careful, it would 'snap' and then the sandy brunette would have to start all over again.

* * *

What Craig wanted to do was grab Tweek's hand and pull him into the dead forest where their spot was located, but instead, he decided to watch the scene before him which consisted of Kenny McCormick and Bebe Stevens. The curly blonde with the red, bloody hands Craig didn't know much about, except for the fact she's unfaithful to her boyfriend who she claimed she loved more than anything. The blonde and her boyfriend, Clyde Donovan, arrived around the same time the noirette did so he's 'known' them their entire time at Purgatory. For the most part, Craig strayed away from the sexual deviant, not wanting to get caught in her web. He'd most wave at her, maybe flash Bebe a smile, but that was about as far as conversing would get.

Craig watched as Bebe got offended at something Kenny said, resulting in her yelling out his full name and turning, then stomping away. He continued to watch and noticed Bebe counting off on her bloody fingers as she walked to her cottage. Each snap her fingers made, he knew it signified one digit for whatever she was mentally counting. It was a tic the girl had, Craig remembers her explaining it to one of the villagers when they asked why she would snap every so often.

When she disappeared into her cottage, the brown eyed boy turned to look back at Tweek but found he was no longer standing where he was just moments ago. Brown hues scanned the centre lot but found no luck in finding him. Grabbing ahold of some of the rope that hung off his neck and trailed behind him when he walked, he held it tightly in hand then made his way to his cottage where his mother rest inside, more than likely humming a soft tune to herself.

A knock sounded on the door of an eighteen year old boy's room. It then followed with the door opening and a young girl with strawberry-blonde hair cut into a bob appeared behind the structure. She smiled to the boy who laid on his bed, laptop sitting on his chest, totally in his own world. She clapped her hands to get his attention then moved them to let him know dinner was ready.

What the strawberry-blonde should have done was bring a plate of food to the boy, but she wasn't thinking clearly. The eighteen year old shut his laptop sighing loudly then followed the girl downstairs to the kitchen.

The whole house smelled like fresh, baked chicken, the scent just radiating throughout the air. When they got closer to the kitchen, a women spoke softly to a man, the two of them talking about an upcoming event they needed to attend. The siblings walked into the room, and the women who was speaking just a few seconds ago stopped and looked at the two.

"Craig, there's your plate." She said directed to the boy. "Get on out of here."

The little girl watched the way her brother looked at the women with hatred in his eyes. He wanted to say something rude to the women, but he kept his insults to glares and grabbed his plate of food. There wasn't much on the china, a small portion one would mistake being for the young girl instead of him. Craig trailed back upstairs to his bedroom, locking himself within and setting the plate on his nightstand.

A knock sounded on his door only a few moments later, the noirette sighed loudly, standing up and unlocking the door. The small strawberry-blonde smiled largely at Craig. She had her own platter of food in hand, and she began to enter his room, making her way to his navy, blue bed.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Ruby? You don't have to eat up here."

Ruby didn't respond - partially because she couldn't hear her brother speaking to her. Since the young girl was born, she was deaf due to being pre-mature. Throughout the years, her parents made a point to learn sign language and teach it to Ruby themselves and eventually the girl began to learn how to read the lips of whoever spoke. The only problem with that was she needed to be looking at the speaker in order to catch what they were saying. In which this case, she was more focused on eating and staring downwards to her plate instead of at her older brother.

Craig watched as Ruby carefully began eating her canned corn, stabbing each individual piece of corn with her fork. The raven haired boy admired his younger sister's appearance, they didn't look related in any sort of way. The two of them were opposites in the fact that Craig took the darker spectrum with black hair and deep, brown eyes and Ruby reminded Craig of a porcelain doll – the way her silver-blue eyes pierced whatever she looked at and how soft her strawberry-blonde hair flowed until hitting the end of her chin.

Ruby resembled her dad more than her mother and that was something Craig thanked on a daily basis. He absolutely despised the deaf girl's mother. The women came into his life around the time Craig was eleven, and the moment he saw through her fakeness and how she tried to replace his deceased mother, Craig decided upon hating Elizabeth. She was a women who sucked the life out of anyone she ran into, obtaining souls within her emotionless olive eyes. Within in the first year of her marriage to Craig's father, Elizabeth tried her best to befriend the small noirette – but it all came to an end when he called her out on her actions. Ever since that incident, the women made it her intention to treat Craig in the opposite and she successfully persuaded her husband to do the same. The only thing the boy had to thank Elizabeth for was bringing his sister to the world six years ago.

The strawberry-blonde was all Craig had left for family. His birth mother, he never met; and he became disowned by his father.

After Ruby finished all her corn, she moved to picking apart the baked chicken, peeling off the skin which more than half was burnt, and eating the meat underneath. She caught her brother watching her and looked up to meet his stare.

Dropping the chicken, her hands moved to ask 'what?'

Ruby never liked speaking, even though her disability teacher at school taught her to do so, the young girl didn't like being unable to hear exactly what she said, so she mainly stuck to sign language.

Craig shook his head and drew his attention to the closet that sat behind the girl. The door to the small room was shut, hiding whatever was inside it. He remembers locking the door in case someone made the attempt to opening it and finding something he didn't want to be discovered. The key to the door sat inside the closeness of his jean pocket.

Abandoning the rest of her food, Ruby set her plate underneath the full one of Craig's on his nightstand. The strawberry-blonde then signed to tell her brother she was beginning to grow tired, asking if she could sleep in his bed for the night. The brown eyed boy hesitated before nodding, then laid down beside his sister. Craig grabbed Ruby's small hand to place it on the base of his neck as he began to hum a tune. It was a simple melody yet slow and whimsical. Her cool fingers touched the skin gently feeling the vibrations of Craig's humming. It was Ruby's only way of 'listening'. The young girl focused on the rhythm until she started drifting to sleep.

Ruby had been asleep for a good few hours now, her soft breathing was the only thing Craig focused on during the time, he liked the way it sounded and signified she was still alive. He gently nudged her in the shoulder trying to wake her, but the young girl was a deep sleeper and it usually took a bit to wake her. Rolling his eyes, Craig decided to pick Ruby up, caressing her small body with one arm under her knees and the other supporting her neck.

It took the noirette a while to unlock and open his bedroom door with the girl in hand, but after successfully achieving the task, Craig started down the upstairs hallway towards Ruby's room. Hers was located all the way on the other side, with their parents set in between the two sibling's rooms. The light underneath his parent' door shined onto the hallway carpet. Craig prayed no one was awake and would hear him walking around at that hour.

When he stood before Ruby's room, the opening of his parent's door sounded behind him. Cursing silently, Craig moved faster to set the deaf girl down in her bed and pulling the soft, pink covers over her sleeping body. Turning around, the noirette came face-to-face with Elizabeth, her hands crossed over her petite breasts and olives eyes glaring up to deep, brown ones.

"What the hell are you doing to your sister, Craig?" Her voice whispered in an angered tone.

Craig simply pushed past the women, making his way back to his own bedroom. But Elizabeth didn't like it one bit that her step-son was ignoring her. She followed after Craig, putting her slipper-covered foot in the doorway before the noirette was able to shut and lock it behind him. The boy huffed loudly, glaring at the foot that blocked his way.

"What the fuck do you want, Bitch?"

When Craig felt he was old enough to begin cursing in front of his parents, and more importantly Elizabeth, he took the liberty of starting to call the women 'bitch' to her face and it soon turned to a permanent nickname to where Craig no longer called her by her birth name. The women with the olive orbs disliked every bit of it, the action only pissing her more off, but she soon found she couldn't change anything about it.

"You didn't answer my question, Craig."

Pushing the door open wider so he could see the women better, the noirette replied with, "I wasn't doing anything to Ruby. I was simply putting her in bed because she fell asleep in mine. Now leave me alone."

"She shouldn't have been in your room to begin with, I don't see what my little girl likes about you. Ruby needs to spend more time with her parents and less with you. Stay away from her, you hear me?"

Anger overcame the brown eyed boy, he stepped a foot closer to Elizabeth, looking her square in the olive irises of her eyes. Craig could count every freckle that surfaced on the rounds of her cheeks, what seemed like millions of the small brown dots covered her face. A single strand of her dull, brown hair fell over Elizabeth's forehead, falling onto her left cheek and matching the colour of her freckles.

"I can't control whether Ruby wants to be around me or not, Bitch. It's Ruby's decision - not yours."

Craig watched as her arms uncrossed over her chest and the olive eyed women brought one of them above her head then quickly back down to slap the noirette heavily. The sound of her palm coming in contact with skin strikingly echoed in the quietness the house provided. Craig gasped, holding his cheek, then pushed Elizabeth away to where she stumbled on her feet, attempting to regain her balance.

The thought of doing worse to the women crossed the noirette's mind. He wanted to back the women up until she stood before the staircase, and when she least expected it, Craig wanted to push her down the structure. Listen to the women scream on her way down, her bones cracking along with. But it took everything within the raven haired boy's will to keep himself in his room, with Elizabeth on the other side of the door, objecting she be let in.

"Craig so help me God, open this damned door!" He heard her mutter afterwards about how she really needed to invest in getting a key for the lock.

Glancing over at the closet within his room, Craig knew what he wanted to do. He's been thinking about it for a few weeks now, and this finally seemed like the time the act needed to be done.

The eighteen year old boy placed a black, metal folding chair underneath the thick rope that hung from inside his closet. Climbing on top of the chair, he grabbed the end of the rope that formed a noose, wrapping it around his neck. The boy's heartbeat raced faster, his nerves getting to him as he continued on with the process. The thought of his younger sister was fresh in his mind, and he only prayed she wouldn't be the one to find him this way. The noirette wanted the women with the olive eyes and hair the same shade as her freckles to find him hanging from inside the closet. After all – it was her fault he was in this situation to begin with.

On the count of ten, the boy kicked the metal chair from under his feet, it landed outside the closet with a loud 'clang'. Brown eyes grew wide for a second as he fell downward, then everything stopped when his neck broke and cracked under the pressure of the rope tied around it. The boy's body swung back and forth from the ceiling until slowly coming to an end. All life he possessed no longer present.

* * *

Wendy Testaburger was the only villager in her small region of Purgatory that was disliked by her community. She wasn't looked down upon because of the way she took her life (there was another like her that did the same process, after all.) but because of her _reason _behind it.

In Boston, Massachusetts, in a private school the city provided, Wendy was known for being the top of her class in her freshmen year. She had the best grades along with GPA and Wendy intended on keeping it that way. But when an unexpected incident came up, and the girl found herself with grades she couldn't bare owning, Wendy took it upon herself to do something about it… except it backfired on her.

When the girl with the long, black hair and hazel eyes a mix between forest green and honey brown entered Purgatory, she was shameful of what she did. Wendy could now be labeled as one of _those _kids. She woke up inside a cottage with a blonde haired boy and another with a dark skin tone and she screamed just as her eyes opened. Wendy couldn't take what her eyes witnessed around her. The African-American boy had a large bullet wound in the centre of his forehead, one the girl could see through, and with fresh blood leaking out, Wendy lost it. She covered her mouth as her screams sounded and woke up the two boys. The blonde sat up quickly looking over to the girl and simply smiled.

Wendy stopped screaming for a moment, confused by why the blonde was smiling. "What the hell are you smiling about?!"

"Your reaction, it's kind of – oh what's the word? Sweet… that seem worried."

"Worried?" The girl exclaimed. "I'm terrified! Are you not aware that that boy over there was a freaking bullet wound in the middle of his forehead?!"

"Why - of course. He's was always been like that. Nothing new to me."

Wendy jumped out of her bed, walking over to the blonde. She grabbed him forcefully by the shoulders – or at least, she tried to. When her arms were in her viewpoint, the ebony haired girl noticed the dozens of slits that's laced both of her forearms. Hardly any of her smooth, Caucasian skin in the spot was untouched. Her forearms looked like something more of mangled, hamburger meat – bloody, red and raw.

"What's your name?" The boy asked. But Wendy didn't even hear him ask, she was more focused on her arms and how disgusting they appeared. "I'm Leopold."

Tears welled in her hazel brown eyes, quickly strolling down her cheeks. She remembers back to why she mutilated her arms and Wendy feels nothing but disappointment.

"Oh dear, no need to… to. Oh fiddlesticks what's that called again?" Leopold's eyebrows furrowed together as he tried to remember. After a few moments, he gave up and started over. "Wipe your eyes, there's no need for that. Everyone is here for the same reason you are. Now what's your name?"

Wendy muttered her name, wiping her eyes with her hands. She looked up to the blonde boy, staring into his eyes that were a cold, translucent blue.

He mirrored her response, smiling once again. "I guess I should say welcome to Purgatory."

When the girl with the ebony hair told her story to the residents in the village many of them huffed a breath of air that sounded like disappointment. Even the sweet twelve year old, Leopold, looked at Wendy with a sad emotion. A curly, blonde wearing a red sweater walked over to Wendy. She grabbed the girl by the sleeve of her navy, blue cardigan then pushed both of them up so everyone could see the damage on Wendy's forearms.

"Don't pull those sleeves back down, I want everyone in fucking Purgatory to see what you did. And when they ask, you tell them. Tell them word-for-word about how you killed yourself because you couldn't achieve those 'good grades'." Bebe let go of Wendy, slightly pushing her as she did so. "You're pathetic kid. At the age of fourteen, you had so much more ahead of you. Think about it.'

The curly blonde walked away returning to the brunette boy she arrived to Purgatory with.

Even though both girls died in a similar fashion, they couldn't be anymore more different.

Wendy stood a ways from the centre of the village, hiding within the dead trees of the forest that surrounded. She watched an unfamiliar boy with raven hair converse with Tweek, who was laughing at whatever the boy just said. She noticed the way he coughed heavily every so often, and between coughs there were times he'd hack up an ugly black substance along with blood. One thing the fourteen year old learned about living in Purgatory the few years she's been there, is blood was a substance you would come across on a daily basis, and you would learn to get used to seeing it. It took Wendy a while for her to look at her arms and shrug when she'd witness fresh blood leaking out her various cuts yet once again. Now it didn't even phase her. But as the girl watched with her hazel brown eyes stuck on the coughing boy, she felt sympathy every time she witnessed a new lace of blood come out of his mouth.

She wanted to know his name - actually – wanted to know everything about the boy with the raven coloured hair and the striking cobalt eyes. Wendy instantly fell in love with him. Her heart beat raced when she noticed him glance her way, there was no way he would notice Wendy but it still frightened her. She only hoped the boy wouldn't hear about Wendy's story before she's able to communicate with him. She wanted to tell him herself and not have the others corrupt his mind and force him to hate Wendy like they all do.

The noirette clutched the front of her navy cardigan, sighing as she did so. She needed to know who this boy was, and she needed to do so soon.


	5. Chapter 5

_**This chapter has been way overdue and I apologise for that. Took a small break to write a bit of my own stuff. Honestly, I'm kind of disappointed with this chapter, it's my shortest one yet and really blah. But hey, I was able to shoot something out so whoop.**_

* * *

As Stan conversed with the blonde before him, he couldn't help but feel a presence as though something was watching him. Sure, he and Kyle were new to this place called Purgatory and people were bound to wonder about them - watch and ask questions – but the only other people outside in the centre of the village were Tweek and Kenny, who was making his way back to his cottage. The mysterious feeling seemed like eyes bored into Stan's soul and watched his every move closely. He kept glancing over to the forest behind Tweek… something next to a large, dead oak tree, resembled a silhouette, black with long flowing hair. No matter how many times Stan moved his eyes in that direction, the black figure wouldn't move an inch.

Stan coughed lightly, hacking out a long sliver of the usual black substance. He was beginning to get used to it by this time, that and the constant scratchy feeling in the back of his throat

"You keep glancing behind me. So my guess is something has spiked your interest, or you're nervous." The blonde that was speaking with Stan smiled lightly towards the raven haired boy. Stan paid his attention back to Tweek, looking up to his bright, emerald eyes. Stan felt like they brought a sort of excitement to the entire village. Instead of always seeing in grey and white with a vibrant, scarlet, the green was a change of scenery that Stan wanted to continue to look into for a brief amount of time.

"I can't help but shake the feeling that there's something next to that big oak tree behind you. Almost like there's someone there and it's making me uneasy."

Tweek's smile widened. "Then why not check it out, hm?"

The moment Wendy noticed the noirette and Tweek walking towards her, she panicked. Her heartbeat sped to a fast pace, and she clutched her navy blue sweater even harder than before. She couldn't escape without one of them noticing so her only choice was to be discovered by the dup and hope for the best.

The task only took around thirty seconds but it seemed like forever to Wendy. At this point she wanted to get it over with – meet the new attendant and move on with her day. She could hear Tweek conversing with him, telling the noirette about how he was probably imagining things and the only response the young girl could hear was a hard cough followed by a deep clearing of the lower throat. She wondered about what it may be that led the boy to have such a terrible cough like he did, she hadn't known anyone else in the village like such and that only made Wendy filled with more curiosity.

By the time the boys were practically in touching range, the female noirette stepped out from behind the tree and she noticed the boy jump slightly, gasping while doing so.

"Damn it, Wendy. What the hell are you doing?"

Everytime Wendy got close to the blonde with the emerald eyes, the only thing she could focus on were the gaping holes throughout his chest. She had been in the village for quite some time, but Tweek's mutilation was one she never got used to. Partially because she had a weak stomach but also because she felt sorry for the blonde. She knew he was unable to feel a thing – none of the residents were besides Laura and the McCormick boy – but it still bothered Wendy.

Hazel brown eyes stuck to the noirette, Wendy was amazed by his looks being so close to her. She could feel him staring back at her and the action rose a strong emotion to her chest. There was no doubt Wendy loved this boy… and there was no way she would stop feeling this way.

* * *

Time didn't exist in Purgatory – that was only a thing that mattered on Earth. Here, the only thing that resembled some sort of time was when the night fell. And that, no one had a straight idea of when exactly it took place. It happened during different times throughout the day and sometimes, the village would be hit with more than one night a day. That's why days didn't matter in Purgatory and neither did time.

Craig had plenty of theories about the place but none that he would share with the others. Or more like… could share. So he kept them to himself and more than likely, they were driving him insane.

He wondered if they could die again in this place. That if they could do so, they'd be transferred to the place humans believed to be Heaven and would no longer have to suffer with the sins given to them. Because they still had the proper breathing tactics and everything else they had before dying other than the recollection of pain. Which meant if Craig were to off himself once again, he'd have a better chance of going all out because he wouldn't feel a thing.

When the mute noirette returned to his cottage he expected Laura to be humming and playing with her hair like she was just about every day. However much to disbelief, his mother laid fast asleep, clutching her stomach and whining softly – but she slept like that pretty much every time. With Laura out, Craig stuck with his usual thoughts running through his mind, he felt this was the perfect time to try something and witness the outcome.

To the corner of the cottage, beside Laura's bed, she kept a small hand mirror. Neither of the Tucker's knew where the mirror came from but at this time, Craig didn't question it. He softly walked around his mother's bed, quickly glancing over to her sleeping body… admiring how painful her expression looked. He then grabbed for the mirror and sunk down to sit in the corner where it resided just a few moments ago.

Deep brown eyes reflected in the hand mirror – it was the only thing the noirette could stare at because everything else triggered something within him. No doubt was Craig ashamed of committing suicide the way he did because it left him wondering about how the act affected Ruby and just how long has it been since it happened.

Unable to look any longer in the small mirror, Craig raised it slightly then brought it back down quickly to smash it against the hardwood floor. The glass shattered, it causing a loud noise that Craig worried would wake his mother. But it only rose her to breathe in harder than before and let out soft whine. The mirror ended up breaking into several pieces, majority of them being small but the largest of the sections was around half the size of what the mirror used to be and that was the piece the noirette gripped in hand, clutching it harder than needed.

His breath shortened. Craig knew he only had one chance and the outcome could definitely help with one of his theories. Taking a deep breath then counting to ten, the noirette clutched harder onto the glass in hand. Opening his brown eyes wider than before, Craig then shoved the sharpened piece strongly into his right eye until it pierced and tore his retina. Letting go of the mirror with it still intact, the mute boy doubled over and he shifted into a fetal position. The pain becoming excruciating and the only thing Craig wished for was to no longer be mute so he could properly cry out in pain.

* * *

A seventeen year old girl sat alone in her one bedroom apartment. All the windows shut along with the windows, the time blinking on the alarm clock sitting next to her flashed 11:58 and she knew it was about time. The only furniture residing in her bedroom was a futon covered in black sheets and small black cherry, wood dresser. Right beside the girl sat a large butcher knife and several candles – all the same shade of a rich, royal purple. When the clock switched to midnight, the seventeen year old reached for the blade and began to speak in a language only she could understand. Grasping the knife tightly, the girl shamelessly sliced a large and deep incision on her forearm, right along her vein. She knew this would produce enough blood necessary – but not that it could possibly cause death.

Continuing the chant, she paid no attention to the pain the cut produced, but instead she tilted her arm until the red substance dripped onto the hardwood floor beneath her. Her blood covering the symbol of the devil that she drew with chalk not too long ago.

When she looked over to check the time once more it only showed five minutes had passed. Secretly the girl wished she had brought a friend to her summoning – the time now being too late.

Opening copper toned eyes, the seventeen year old was confused as to why she awoke in an all-white bed and more importantly why it was so damned bright in the room. Jumping quickly out of the bed, she came to realize she wasn't alone in the room. More questions arose and this only pissed her off. To her left, a small girl around the age of four stared with bright blue eyes and within seconds of arrival the little girl smiled largely.

Opening her mouth and taking in a large amount of oxygen the girl began to speak in a soft tone that sounded scratchy. "Finally someone to share a cottage with!" She breathed in once more. "I'm Patricia… but I go by Patty."

The girl with the copper eyes didn't respond. Instead she rest her eyes on the neck of the little girl. As careless as she liked to think she was, she felt deep sympathy for a discolouring that rested around Patty's neck. It reminded her of the same colour of her candles from the night before – that same shade of royal purple. Attempting to stray away from the sight, she then focused her attention to how blue Patty's lips were. Dried and crack along with drained of life. Large bags sat under the bright blue of her eyes and the seventeen year old felt something pull on her heartstrings. There was definitely something wrong with the girl and yet the four year old didn't seem to care a bit.

Breathing loudly, Patty started up again. "What's your name?" The question had so much excitement behind it which caused the copper eyed girl to smile slightly.

"Henrietta."

Patty echoed the name in a whisper then laughed silently. "What did you do? It looks like you're yet another cutter." Pause. "Shame, shame." The four year old smiled widely to Henrietta, clasping her hands before her.

"A cutter?!" She shot back. "I'm not some emo bitch who's trying to get attention. And I'm not going to try to explain myself to some little five year old who looks like their good as dead!"

The small girl gasped loudly which caused her go into a coughing fit. As soon as she caught her breath, Patty huffed and crossed her small arms over her chest.

"You're oftly funny Henri. We're all dead here."

* * *

"So what's your real name?" Kenny laid beside Tweek on his bed with Karen fast asleep on the other side of the room. Her breathing could be heard coming from her neck and he tried hard not to focus on the rhythm it provided. The index finger on his right hand was fully inserted into one of the multiple stab wounds on Tweek's torso. Constantly taking it in and out again in a slowing motion, the bruised boy found it fascinating how Tweek didn't feel a thing. Pulling it out once more, Kenny then shoved it back in the wound forcefully, the wet flesh around his finger conformed and moved around the foreign object. The sound of slapping flesh overshadowed Karen's breathing.

"It doesn't matter."

"You say that every time!" Kenny huffed loudly. Curling his index finger within the wound, he grabbed onto a small bit of the flesh and began to pull it upwards. In very little attempt, the wound started tearing and Kenny checked to witness Tweek's expression. His brow furrowed inwards as the blue eyed boy continued his action until he tore a section off – making the stab wound larger than before. To Kenny's surprise Tweek winced in pain and uttered a quiet 'fuck'. He held the torn piece of flesh in hand examining how it appeared when it wasn't connected to a body. His entire hand was covered in the other blonde's blood, which Kenny thought looked pretty cool. Looking back to the further opened wound, he watched more of the substance leak out then followed his gaze along Tweek's body until meeting those bright, emerald eyes – which looked full of pain.

"Gonna tell me your name now?"

Sitting up slightly, Tweek reached for the chunk of flesh in the other's hand. "I'm not worried about that, Kenny! I just felt you rip that off me. I shouldn't have felt that!"

Baby blue eyes grew wide. "You mean... you – actually felt that."

Tweek aggressively nodded his head. In the background, the breathing of Karen grew louder followed by shifting around in her bed. Both blondes look over and noticed the sandy brunette rise to a sitting position. A frown spread across her thin lips as she looked back to the two lying in the same bed. Motioning her hands in a slower pace so Kenny could properly establish the words, she asked what was going on, slightly cocking her head to the side. Strands of her long, brown hair tilted to her right waving around her shoulder. She took sight of the chunk of flesh in Tweek's hand and how her brother's was stained in the other's blood. Unable to help herself, Karen openly smirked at the scene before her and how she could visibly see the pain in Tweek's expression. It was proof that the residents could still feel pain if it were inflicting rather than their existing wounds, and that was all Karen needed to know.


	6. Chapter 6

**_This took too long. And it sucks. I'm sorry for everything._**

* * *

Some nights Kenny would find himself climbing into bed with his younger sister while she slept. He would bring his ear close to the holes in her neck and the gargles noise was always one to disgust the blonde, but Kenny never cringed away. If anything, it fascinated him.

It started with Tweek and the various gaping wounds that laced his torso. Kenny was interested in how the older blonder never felt a thing when a curious finger wandered into one of the openings or how pain was something Tweek just didn't experience with his mutilation. Since Karen could be seen as being in the same position as Tweek, curiosity struck the thirteen year old. On a night when it just the two siblings residing within their cottage, Kenny gently crawled into bed with his sister, hovering over Karen as she breathed heavily. With one hand he stroked her hair, some of the sandy brown strands getting tangled within his fingertips. The blonde brought his other hand right to Karen's neck, wrapping his fingers around the nape and some of her gargled breathing grew louder and even more stressed than before. Then –without a second thought - Kenny inserted his index finger inside one of the wounds near the base of Karen's chin.

The difference between Tweek and Karen was the girl never bled from her neck like how the other constantly did. As soon as his finger went in knuckle deep, Kenny began to slowly pull it back out. Covered in a thick red substance which he didn't seemed too worried about, the girl's breathing began to get more rigid and she stirred from underneath her brother's grip. The thirteen year old loosened his hand, but he still didn't let go completely. Instead, Kenny stroked Karen's right cheek with the pad of his thumb and looked down generously at the sleeping brunette.

He wanted to do the same as he did with Tweek – tug off a chunk of his sister's skin – but he had enough consciousness not to. He could only imagine Karen would awake from her slumber if he did so and wither in pain with fresh blood beginning to leak out from her neck that was violated only seconds ago. The newly tortured wound would then be large enough to allow more oxygen to seep through the holes. But of course, Kenny couldn't find it within himself to harm his younger sister in such a way.

Sighing to himself, the bruised boy let go of Karen all together. Bringing the hand which was wrapped around her neck closer to his eyesight, Kenny examined the blood painted onto his index finger. It enticed him and he slowly found himself smirking at the sight – already, as was it beginning to cool and dry – and Kenny ever so slowly stuck the digit within his mouth, licking the substance with ease. It reminded him of the night of the accident. How when Kenny collided with the door of the vehicle, he bit his tongue from the shock of the impact and the copper flavoured substance quickly filled his mouth. Karen's blood tasted just the same as his, and the blonde slightly cringed closing bright blue eyes as he did so. Kenny swirled his tongue around said digit a few times until he no longer felt a trace of the blood, and so he pulled it out, watching as a small trail of saliva followed behind.

Bright blue eyes glanced down once more to the nine year old. Karen looked so undisturbed and peaceful now, as though none of what her brother just did happened. Kenny then climbed off Karen's sleeping body - just as gracefully as got atop it – and walked over to Tweek's bed on the other side of the nightstand between the two. The bedding seemed to scream for Kenny to lay within what it had to offer and the bruised boy happily jumped right into the sheets, falling asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillows.

From the back seat of the shitty Plymouth Acclaim his parents owned, a thirteen year old boy watched as his mother who was driving at the time, turned around in her seat and glanced back to her son who sat directly behind her. Due to the speed the vehicle felt to have been going, it was already beginning to waver slightly the moment the mother took her eyes off the road. Her facial expressions read as pissed, and all the boy could do was focus his attention on the upcoming intersection they were getting closer and closer to by the second, Bright blue eyes took notice of how the stoplight glowed red in the darkness the family's country town had to offer, and the son didn't even bother to listen to what his father – who sat beside his mother – had to complain about. The blonde was more interested in how quickly they were coming to the crossing roads and his mother had _yet _to slow down. Beside him in the backseat, his younger sister seemed to had just woke up from the nap she was taking earlier, and her blue eyes were doe like as she turned towards her brother.

"…Kenny?"

He wanted to tell Karen about how everything was going to be all right, and they would be home in their cozy, little trailer soon, but Kenny could only get a few words in before the impact of another car came crashing into their Acclaim. Slamming into the car door window, the glass shattered viciously, several of small chunks sliding into the skin on the left side of his face. The sudden pain cause the blond to violently bit his tongue and he winced once the taste of his own blood quickly filled his mouth. To Kenny's left, his sister could be heard screaming along with their mother – who cursed more profanities than she did fully scream. The force from the other vehicle wasn't the only damage done, due to the speed his mother decided to go, it caused the Plymouth to skid sideways across the intersection until eventually it flipped, running into yet _another_ car on the road.

The seatbelt Kenny luckily had been wearing, caught him from moving too much besides the act of slamming against the side of his door, the side of his face which now had various glass shards within stung, and before stopping himself from doing so, the blonde cried out, tears instantly hitting his eyes. It hurt to feel the clear substance leaked out from his left eye, the one that just so happened to be open as a shard of glass slid its way within the blue orb. He could hardly open said eye. His vision remaining in the other started to give out and all Kenny could do at that point was attempt to breathe normally and slowly bring a hand out to Karen… who was knocked out with a rather large piece of glass stuck within the contents of her neck.

Blood covered almost the entire backseat, but the front wasn't any better. It reminded the thirteen year old of a canvas splattered in red paint. His father groaned loudly with the sound of several sirens in the background – the last sound Kenny remembers hearing before finally giving out.

* * *

She usually made it a daily routine to get up early enough to walk out to the pond where she could bath and scrub at the cuts that never stopped bleeding. But this morning, Bebe took it upon herself to continue to sleep curled up next to her boyfriend who sometime during the night crawled into bed with her. Taking a deep breath, the curly blonde could smell nothing, something she noticed while in Purgatory – that nothing really radiated with a smell except for the residence that lived throughout the village. To her side, Bebe felt the rustling about of her boyfriend, and eventually she slowly opened her eyes to take witness of Clyde getting out of bed.

"What are you doing?" She mumbled.

Turning back to the girl on the mattress, Clyde waved a hand in her direction. "Don't worry about it. I'll be back in a few."

As she watched the brunette exit their cottage, closing the door behind him, Bebe couldn't help but sigh and roll back over, while feeling a little bit unsure about what just occurred. She knew her and Clyde weren't as close as they used to be when the couple was still living, and sometimes Bebe liked to blame that fault on herself.

Curling her arm underneath her pillow and smashing her face even further into the comfort, Bebe couldn't help but ask herself why they were brought to this place to begin with. It seemed, after speaking to various others in the area, that the reason of their passing to the otherworld wasn't typically their fault to begin with, that it started with the intentions of someone else's doing. But when Bebe brought her situation into the spectrum, the reason Clyde was here was because of her, and the girl took her life because of her boyfriend which again – turned out to be her fault. Something about the purpose for this world seemed off to Bebe but it wasn't like there was someone in charge she ask such questions to. Instead, she and the others, were left wondering about the realm and figuring things out for herself.

She repositioned her figure on the bed, switched sides to lay on, and when doing so, Bebe couldn't help but notice all of blood covering her sheets and pillow case. Not only was there fresh blood from switching positions, but throughout the night, from her cuts which consistently leaked red, there was the substance everywhere dried and the colour of brown rust. Overall it disgusted the blonde but there wasn't anything she could do about it.

For what seemed like eternity, Bebe finally decided to fall asleep. She felt a smudge of blood run across her cheek as she set her arm underneath her head, but all she did was ignore the feeling and close her eyes.

By the time Clyde arrived back to the cottage, Bebe was awake once again and she was pacing the wooden structure with her arms crossed over her chest. The only clothing she wore was a simple white camisole she occasionally wore under her sweater and her usual black jeans. The moment her eyes caught sight of the brunette entering the space, she stopped pacing to direct her attention towards him and began walking his way. Bebe didn't stop until her arms were uncrossed and wrapped around Clyde's neck, she smiled lightly at him, then leaned forward to plant a kiss on his lips. Within seconds it turned sloppy, Bebe tightened her grip rubbing blood onto Clyde's skin, and she pressed her body closer to him. She felt like everything was going great. One of her hands ran across her boyfriend's torso until meeting the bottom of his jacket where the zipper resided. Curling her fingers around the metal, Bebe pulled harshly attempting to slide it off Clyde's arm a bit. But the moment the fabric began to slip, the brunette pushed his girlfriend away, sucking his bottom lip and refusing to look the curly blonde in the blues of her eyes.

"Bebe, no. I can't do this." Clyde's voice was barely audible and the girl had to ask him to repeat himself. Moaning after he did so.

"But I'm horny Clyde." She whines, grinding her hips against Clyde's thigh. "At least give me _something._"

"Just go sleep with someone else in the village, Bebe."

"'Just go sleep with someone else'? What the hell kind of bullshit is that?"

"You do it just about any other time I'm unable to have sex with you."

"You make me out to be some kind of a _whore_, Donovan."

The brunette cringed at hearing his girlfriend use his last name. She hasn't done so since they were still alive and usually she only did it when she was really pissed. "Well you sure are acting like one. Didn't you sleep with that thirteen year old? How was that even possible? He's so fucked up."

"You're more fucked up than he is!" Bebe yelled, lightly stomping her foot on the floorboards. "You don't even have a functioning dick!"

Pushing Bebe away, Clyde made his way towards the front door, fingers clasping over the brass door knob. Then he glanced back the curly blond behind him and spit, "And whose fault is that?"

The moment they left his lips, the words sunk deeply into Bebe's chest. Immediately she grasped her curly locks tightly screaming loudly at the tops of her lungs and sinking to her knees. She _knew _everything was her fault, and if there even a slight possibility of being able to kill herself again – Bebe would definitely follow through with it.

* * *

It was one of those days where Patty Nelson came to visit the cottage Laura stayed in. A small knock sounded on the wooden door and it took everything within the seventeen year old to climb out of her bed and walk across the small space to open it. On the other end, the small four year old smiled towards the blonde with pale blue lips, holding a dead brown flower in hand.

"Hi, Laura." She said, pushing the dead plant towards the girl before her.

They haven't been hanging out as much as they used to – not since that gothic girl had moved into Purgatory, sharing the same cottage as Patty.

Laura took the flower from the little girl, admiring the way the petals were barely hanging onto the plant. She hasn't seen a flower in decades, never even knew these sorts of plants existed in a place like this. But then again, Laura never really got out much.

She moved to the side to let the small noirette in, clutching the flower between frail fingers, then slowly turned around slamming the door behind her and making her way back to the bed she never seemed to leave. Laura couldn't help but admire the mess in the furthest corner of the space. Blue-violet eyes met brown-scarlet liquid that soaked into the floor boards along with covering majority of the glass which lingered about. The sight of her son sprawled across the floor in that same spot quickly filled her mind. The way Craig clutched at the rather large piece of glass stuck within his eye socket, silently screaming and crying.

She probably would have continued standing there if it weren't for the sudden shock of pain in her lower abdomen which sent the blonde falling to her knees.

Patty yelled her name after taking a large intake of air. She also fell to her knees, her tiny hands touching Laura's arm, feeling how cold her skin felt against her own.

"Laura? Laura, what's wrong?"

She could hardly speak the pain was so bad. Instead loud sobs left her mouth while cool tears began to stream from her tear ducts. What she wanted to say was for the girl to go fetch her son, but she couldn't even manage that.

Patty continued to talk to Laura, asking her question that only her four year old mind could come up with. She kept inhaling as much as air as she could, breathing heavily each time she spoke a few words. Beside them on the floorboards was the decaying flower she picked from the deeper section of the forest – the part most rarely dared to enter.


End file.
